My Immortal
by mercurial2010
Summary: In November 2010 a boy and his captain come back together for one last night of passion, from there we creep into their thoughts to explain what took them to this stage, and why it has to be one last night. Janto. Big thanks to my beta BlossomXnight .
1. Chapter 1

Pairing: Janto, Ianto/OC.

Characters: Obviously the captain and his boy, Gwen, John Hart, and My own OC- 'Clair'.  
Disclaimer: Not mine, I have no connection to Torchwood, or any of the cast and crew and make no money from writing fanfic.  
Description: Set eighteen months after COE so obviously a fix it (fix what should have never been broken). Disjointed narrative, starts with "now" and then goes into explaining what has happened to the men since we last saw them at the end of COE. All the now bits are in the usual type, and _all the then bits are in italics_. Dates are included at the top of each chapter as a guide.

A/N: Second Janto fic, first one long. So please let me know what you think, particularly interested in con/crit.

**Huge thanks to NightXBlossom for the amazing beta job. **

**Date: 05/11/10**

**Chapter One: The beginning**

Jack looked up from his paper work as Ianto stormed into his office that evening. He was no longer surprised when his previously submissive employee stormed into places carrying what looked like a thundercloud on his shoulders. But it was definitely past ten, and that was a little late to be having one of their "chats", even if Jack did deserve some harsh words this time round.

It was raining outside, had been for hours now, and Ianto was literally dripping. His hair was sleeked flat against his head as big drops of water rolled down his face. Jack watched as one fell from a strand of hair just above his eyebrow, skittering down his face, past his soft round lips, off his chin, and nestling somewhere underneath his collar. Jack shivered as he thought of that particular part of Ianto's body, how good it tasted when Jack's lips teased and taunted him, how Ianto moaned at the sensitivity..

Jack coughed awkwardly, aware that this was probably not the time to be having such thoughts about this man, tonight of all nights. He quickly averted his eyes to anywhere but Ianto's perfectly soft skin. That's when Jack noted his RAF jacket tucked underneath the younger man's arm.

"Oh, are you taking me somewhere?" He said.

His tone would have mocked the Welshman, if said Welshman had cared, and wasn't currently more happily entertained with re-enacting a fantasy he had held for the last six years. Ianto sidled around to the other side of Jack's desk, trying to ignore the way the alcohol in his system made the room tip just a little bit. He sat down on the office chair, swinging his legs onto the desk.

"Take your clothes off, Jack." He ordered.

Jack's eyebrows shot up to reside somewhere halfway up his forehead as he heard the younger man's soft tone's solicit such an instruction.

"Ianto," he stepped forward, realizing that for the man to be sat like that, feet on a table, telling him to strip he must be well and truly plastered. "I think-"

"Clothes, _off_." Ianto repeated in such a domineering way Jack couldn't deny it affected him a little bit.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"I see you're getting the hang of how this is going to work, Jack." Ianto responded, nodding with an air of drunken dominance.

Without thinking of anything other than how Ianto's voice and gaze were affecting him, Jack fulfilled his charge. He started at the braces, removing one off his firm shoulder, dropping it down by his waist, followed at a leisurely place by the other one. Taking the same infuriating amount of time Jack undid the buttons on his blue shirt, counting as he did so.

"One, two, three, four,"

That was enough to get Ianto to stare at how his tight white under-shirt shaped around each one of his sculpted muscles. Ianto bit his lip to prevent himself from growling; it was way too early to give the other man the upper hand. The fantasy hadn't finished yet.

"Five, six," and the shirt dropped to the floor.

Jack paused, wondering what part of bare flesh he should expose to Ianto's languished gaze first. He winked at his spectator before lifting the tight white cotton away from his chest. Jack felt his blood rush and nipples harden at the mere way the younger man was studying him. _If looks could talk_, he thought dreamily as he recalled the one time Ianto had talked dirty to him, under demand.

Ianto's eyes grazed over Jack's bare skin, taking in every last inch of him. He'd long thought that Jack was some object of perfection, and that if this is how they make people in the fifty-first century, someone had better find him a time machine and quick.

The real world was slightly hazed out around Jack's dips and contours. However, Ianto caught a glimpse of the control floor through the CCTV cameras, and the minuet sober side of him asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, asking his former boss to perform a strip tease as he lay dreamily over the desk. Jack noticed Ianto's pupils get slightly less dilated, his posture slightly less hungry, and knew the slow pace had to stop before he lost Ianto and this new dominating side of him. He swiftly pulled off his trousers; for once thankful that Ianto's very presence caused a deep burning sensation in his groin.

Ianto drank up the sight of Jack naked, his strong muscular body poised ready to cause Ianto more pleasure than he knew he could even imagine. The stretched material of Jack's boxers seemed to almost snap under the weight of him. Wait a minute, why the _hell_ was he still wearing his boxers?

"_All_ your clothes, Jack." Ianto demanded slowly, needing to truly see him.

Jack nipped a finger inside each edge of his boxers sliding them down his legs. He was amazed, and rather proud, to find how hard he actually was. Considering Ianto hadn't even been within touching distance since this whole thing began, he was actually sporting quite a large erection.

Ianto couldn't feel anything except the pressure building in his balls. He was minutely aware that all the blood had left the rest of his limbs and compiled in the manhood trapped against the tight material of his own trousers. He undid the button to his trousers, thinking that if he didn't, he'd actually come through and point out, and as much as that might humour him, it would be rather hard to explain later.

He handed the RAF jacket over to its owner, who put it on without question. Ianto gritted his teeth together, he was right about how good the captain would look in nothing but his greatcoat. In fact, he possibly under estimated it. The grey wool was hiding everything except the parts Ianto yearned to trace with his tongue (and another part of his anatomy), as he watched the captain writhing beneath him, begging for more.

"What would you like me to do now, Sir?" Jack asked.

_Fuck, _Ianto thought, realising that in the dreams this was normally when he woke up, with a raging hard-on that sought immediate attention. His hand trembled as he held it back from doing its standard job. His eyes grew even wider as he saw Jack grasp for his own rather large member. Ianto let out a long string of inappropriate curse words. On hearing the obvious distress of his viewer, the captain slowly sauntered over to him, and bent to place an almost chaste kiss on his lips. If chaste was possible, when he was virtually naked and breathing rather rapidly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to neglect my duties, _Sir,_" he said, palming Ianto out of the already half removed trousers, helping him to lift his hips as he pulled the material clean away.

Ianto felt his eyes roll back into his head as Jack licked at his strained member, coating his dick in his precum. Jack moaned in pleasure, as Ianto felt, more than saw, Jack's jaw relax to take the whole of him in. Ianto sensed the start of his climax shake through his cock, which was currently situated in its favourite warm, dark, damp place. He cursed himself for avoiding this for so long, remembering how unsure he felt when he first arrived at the farmland.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Date: 12/09/10**_

_**Chapter Two: Seven**_

_Ianto stood staring at the ground under which the new Welsh Torchwood, ingeniously named Torchwood 3b, had been built. Overhead, cars rushed past, totally oblivious to the workings that happened under them. He'd been there for hours, but thanks to how close it was situated to the River Wye, the only livestock to ever come down this way were sheep, and very few at that. _

_Ianto smirked to himself, wondering exactly how hard Jack had fought for this spot, and how many people told him that it could never be done. Torchwood 3b was built directly underneath the old Severn Bridge. The new habitat of the hub suited its captain completely. Inconspicuous in a completely conspicuous way that makes the rest of the world appear ignorant._

_Ianto sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was never supposed to come back; he was still a shell from his history with the various Torchwoods. They'd run him ragged, made him question his views on science, morality, etiquette and ultimately sex, until eventually they broke him, and he lost._

So why exactly am I standing here?

_Because, three months ago, on the seventh day of the seventh month, when he arrived home from the administrative job in Caradog House, lying on his doormat was a screwed up map with a bright red x marked just to the right of the bridge. _

_"Kids," Claire had said. "Or a treasure map meant for someone else to find."_

_He agreed with her, and shoved it in an empty drawer in the spare room, thinking someone would eventually come along and lay claim to it. _

_He tried to think no more about it, but, inexplicably, the words she used, "treasure map", taunted Ianto's mind that night. Twisted and curled around his dreams like a serpent disturbing his thoughts. He couldn't make it out then, but it niggled away at him, as though there was something he'd forgotten. _

_Nevertheless, soon enough the mundane rituals of his life took over. As always, work took up the largest portion of his life, always seeking to please others. He enjoyed the evenings with Claire, but he always looked forward to the Sunday mornings. She regularly picked up the extra shift in the hospital, so he was able to lie in bed alone, totally content in his own being. He'd always found the most happiness and inner peace totally alone. He'd never needed anyone, except, maybe, once. But then he remembered that he was supposed to forget, and so his past barely ever flitted across his consciousness. _

_However a month later, things changed. On the seventh of August, when he arrived home, he found an old RAF badge with a sewn number 7 shoved under his door. This time he kept it from Claire, although he was unsure why, and it was to become his second lie. _

_The next day was exactly identical to the last. The sun was setting in the same street as he arrived home in exactly the same way, at exactly the same time, to exactly the same door. He placed his suit jacket on the peg he always did, and right there before him was the thing that told him his life was about to get a little less routine. _

_There was a long old grey RAF jacket hanging on the peg next to his, he felt the recognisable rough texture as his hand brushed the sleeve, and avoided the questionable desire to bury his face in it. Just then there were lips on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes as he was greeted by the smells of sex, coffee, and a swirl of overpowering pheromones straight from the 51__st__ century._

_He came alive in the contrast between the soft malleable mouth and sandpaper stubble brushing against his neck. The long forgotten smell and feel of Jack taunted him, stoking his need._

_"Jack," he moaned as hands wrapped around his waist, finding him, making him harder, larger, and more frantic. He felt Jack's hips against his own, evidence of his desire pressed up against his back. He moaned long and hard as he felt his trousers and boxers drop to the floor together, the cold air of the flat heightening the sense around his cock. He turned around in his lover's arms. But then, abruptly, Jack wasn't behind him; instead what replaced his vision was an almost translucent image. _

_Somewhere not in the background, but not quite in mid distance, was a man with a large moustache beckoning him, calling him 'child'. Suddenly he was much younger, clasping a teddy bear in one hand as he fought the strange flexible image with the other. That image soon faded, presumably beaten to submission, to be replaced by one of a pregnant girl in a wedding dress. Ianto placed his hands on Gwen's stomach, saying how Rhys must be so proud. Then in front of his eyes, a huge head burst out from Gwen's stomach, blood rupturing everywhere in a gruesome fashion fit for '_Alien_'._

_As Gwen lay writhing on the floor, grabbing for what used to be her stomach, the faces of Owen and Tosh appeared, just as they were when they died. Tosh biting her lip, resolutely refusing to let her agony show. Owen's look of surprise that someone had out-played him, as he fell to the floor from the gun shot. _

_Ianto sat up in bed, pulling the blanket protectively around himself as memories that he'd long since blocked out of consciousness filled his mind. They didn't let him go for the next four weeks. Each waking moment was filled with comparisons. Each time he watched a tragedy on the news he silently asked the reporter questions he didn't want the answer to. Each kiss and caress carried with it the phantom smell of cinnamon and lavender, and, eventually, the image of his captain. _

_The last clue he was sent, on the seventh of September, was a GPS device. One image was saved under a 4-digit code, a picture of the same part of the Severn Bridge with a cross through it. He knew then that it was Gwen contacting him; in the way he'd informed her of the where about of Jonah Bevan. And although he'd long since made a promise to stay away, he found himself using his Sunday morning to drive his car out to the River Wye, GPS in hand, memories playing in front of his eyes._


End file.
